


Narwen's Drabbles

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: General, Multi-Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2005-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 13:09:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3769667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of miscallaneous drabbles, mostly from insta-drabbling sessions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aragorn, Son of Arathorn

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Words: **Light, joyful, shadows, library**

_A light from the shadows shall spring..._

It sits there, alone, but not forgotten.

The sword of Elendil, Narsil. Once it was wielded by the greatest of the Faithful. Today it is broken, an empty heirloom, resting in the library of Imladris.

In Imladris, where the blood of Numenor has been fostered, generation after generation, in the hope that one day there may be one who will reclaim the throne of Gondor.

That day is nearing...

Estel, he was called. His joyful childhood is left behind now. He is no longer a mere human. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn.

* ~ * ~ * ~ *


	2. I Will Sing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of miscallaneous drabbles, mostly from insta-drabbling sessions.

Words: **Laughter, song, carry away, doll**

The halls of Meduseld are filled with laughter once more. It has been so long...

My daughter shyly comes up to me, her doll clutched fiercely in her arms. She is the apple of my eye, my Theodwyn. Lothíriel tells me that Wyn has me wrapped around her little finger, although she is not yet three years old. Perhaps she is right...

I cannot resist her round blue eyes, so like Éowyn’s when she was little. And her sweet voice never fails to carry me away.

“Song,” she says. It is not a request.

And I will sing for her.

* ~ * ~ * ~ *


	3. The Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of miscallaneous drabbles, mostly from insta-drabbling sessions.

Words: **Rapturous, incombustible, stranger**

The stranger holds his audience in awe...

Who is he? Where has he come from? Nobody knows, and nobody cares.

The children all join in the rapturous applause as he sends the seemingly incombustible stones up into flames. They watch, enthralled, as sparks fly from the stranger’s staff. His eyes twinkle and his mouth creases into a smile behind his thick, bushy beard, as he watches the little elflings ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ at the firework display.

It has been long since he visited the Last Homely House. And yet not much has changed...

From behind him, a voice calls.

“Mithrandir?”

* ~ * ~ * ~ *


	4. Dance With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of miscallaneous drabbles, mostly from insta-drabbling sessions.

Words: **Noticeable, apprehensive, forceful**

Aragorn was nervous, more than he had ever been in his entire life. He hoped his fears were not too noticeable. He was king now, and yet today, he was apprehensive. Was he doing the right thing? Was it wrong of him to subject her to this?

Then he saw her, as if in a dream, just like that day all those years ago…

Beside him, Éomer gave him an almost forceful push, and he was in front of her...

He took her hand.

Afterwards, when the music started, his doubts disappeared.

“Dance with me?”

The answer came straightaway.

“Always.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ *


	5. Naps and Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of miscallaneous drabbles, mostly from insta-drabbling sessions.

Words: **Toddle, parasol, mythical**

Little Arwen awoke with a start. Dragons! Lots of them! They were big, and scary. But her Ada said that they were only in stories...what were mythical creatures doing in her dreams? She was scared. Where were Ada and Nana?

She decided to toddle out to find someone. Wait...whose turn was it to mind her during naptime today? Glorfy! Of course! She peeped outside her room. Sure enough, there he was, fast asleep in the sunny courtyard, under what she was sure was her nana’s parasol...

Glorfindel woke up later, to find a little elfling fast asleep on his lap...

* ~ * ~ * ~ *


	6. A Conflict of Sorts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of miscallaneous drabbles, mostly from insta-drabbling sessions.

Words: **Disrespect, honesty, plot, music**

“I mean no disrespect, Father, but in all honesty, you have completely lost the plot!”

“How dare you! You are my son, Boromir!”

“You seem to forget that he is also your son.”

“He disobeyed me! He should have been training!”

“He was training all day. He is still a child, father. He loves all manner of music. You cannot accuse him of disobedience for listening to the minstrels.”

“I am his father. I have every right to.”

“You are being unreasonable!”

Father and son continue to shout at each other, while from the corner, a boy watches tearfully, unnoticed.

* ~ * ~ * ~ *


	7. An Enigma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of miscallaneous drabbles, mostly from insta-drabbling sessions.

Words: **Synchronicity, identical, house-trained**

I know them better than most, but still they are an enigma. The twin sons of Elrond, identical like two peas in a pod. When they were elflings, they would eat, walk, even sleep in synchronicity. When they got older, it became a game. But today, even more than two millennia after their birth, they still think alike. No, they are not like house-trained pets, without minds of their own. Elladan is the warrior, Elrohir the scholar. So different, yet they will always be two halves of a whole.

But soon they have a decision to make...what will they choose?

* ~ * ~ * ~ *


	8. Only a Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of miscallaneous drabbles, mostly from insta-drabbling sessions.

Words: **Prove, each, success**

What is my worth?

How can I prove to them my capabilities?

Alas, that I was born a woman. How can a woman ever meet with success in this world? My brother loves me, and yet not even he understands me. I train with his soldiers, but which of them really respects the White Lady? In each man’s eyes, I see only indifference, or lust.

I can best any of Éomer’s men in combat…but perhaps I also wound their pride. They cannot accept me… I am, and will always be, a mere woman.

Who will free me from my cage?

* ~ * ~ * ~ *


	9. Dressing Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of miscallaneous drabbles, mostly from insta-drabbling sessions.

Words: **Bewailed, diviner, muddles, struts**

In a small, almost forgotten room near the library of Imladris, a small figure strutted about in what appeared to be a bedsheet. It was actually a dress made to fit a grown elf. So naturally poor Arwen found herself tripping in it. But none of the others made her look like a diviner, like her grandmother…In a corner of the room lay more dresses all muddled up. Arwen did not know what to do. She bewailed the loss of her two favourite dolls in the hands of her brothers.

Now who would take their place at her tea table?

* ~ * ~ * ~ *


	10. Worthy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of miscallaneous drabbles, mostly from insta-drabbling sessions.

Words: **Injury, respect, to put, praise**

They all praised her.

People came into the Houses of Healing every day to ask after her. They gave her flowers, wished her a safe recovery.

But not _him_. She had not seen him since that day. He had healed her wounds, her injuries, but not her heart. She did not care what anyone else said. She did not want fame. All she wanted was for him to respect her. To love her. She would ask him why he did not, but she could not put aside her pride. She was the White Lady. Surely she was worthy of him?

* ~ * ~ * ~ *


	11. No Hope, Only Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of miscallaneous drabbles, mostly from insta-drabbling sessions.

Theme: **Guard of the Citadel**  
Words: **tree, noise, mirror**

_No sounds, no noise…_

The White Tree of Gondor lies dead, as it has done for so many years. Just as the line of the Kings of Numenor died out all those years ago. They say that one day the King will return.

_All stories, all rumours…_

There is no hope now. I have watched the seasons come and go for many a year, but not a single blossom on the tree. The water in the fountain mirrors the ever-darkening sky.  
The King will not return, not in my lifetime at least.

What do we guard now?

Only the past.

* ~ * ~ * ~ *


	12. A Forbidden Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of miscallaneous drabbles, mostly from insta-drabbling sessions.

Words: **Elbereth, icing, rough, love, touch**

_The touch of his rough, battle-worn hands on her skin…_

_But how many others has he touched? The son of the Steward cannot be lacking in suitors…_

What does that matter, here and now? Who am I? Not a lady of court. I am not worthy of the Steward’s heir. He knows that. I know that. It will never be.

During the daytime, he is Boromir, son of Denethor. Yet his nights belong only to me.

The icing on the cake? He loves me, with all of his heart. And by Elbereth, I love him.

_But it will never be…_

* ~ * ~ * ~ *


	13. Flowers from Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of miscallaneous drabbles, mostly from insta-drabbling sessions.

**_Drabble-and-a-half (150 words)._ **

Theme: **Boromir;**  
Words: **pair, follow, watch**

“Bor! Bor! Don’t go so fast!”

“I’m not! You’re just slow!”

To any that cared to watch, it would have been an amusing sight: a pair of young boys, one older than the other, running through the gardens behind the Citadel of Minas Tirith, both struggling to keep enormous bunches of flowers from falling out of their hands, bickering amongst each other at the same time.

But the two sons of the Steward of Gondor had taken care to choose a time when no one would be around to discover their theft of the prized blooms, especially not the gardeners.

Little Faramir struggled to follow his brother.

“Do you think she will like them, Bor?”

“She should do! They’re red, just like the ones Uncle Imrahil gets her.”

“So if we tell her they’re from Father, they won’t fight again?”

“I don’t know, Fara…but I hope so.”

“Me too, Bor.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ *


	14. Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of miscallaneous drabbles, mostly from insta-drabbling sessions.

**_Drouble!_ **

Words: **Pity, ingloriously, sweet, column**

“Father?”

The word felt unusual, foreign on his tongue. He did not remember, did not recognise the person standing in front of him. After so many millennia of not knowing him, it was like meeting a stranger. Every night Elrond had looked into the sky, stared at the brightest star there and wondered what his father was like. And now that he was finally meeting him again, he did not know what to think.

Had Ëarendil seen from the sky his two sons, staring forlornly at the sea every day, waiting for any news of their parents?

Had he ever regretted leaving his sons behind?

For many years, despite having no recollection of his parents, Elrond had been bitter. But now, having left his own children behind, he realised how difficult a decision his father would have had to make. He had said his final farewell to his daughter, and had no idea when, or even if, his sons would sail into the west.

After all the choices he’d had to make over the years, he knew only too well that sometimes the best way was also the one that caused the most pain.

He was ready to finally forgive.

* ~ * ~ * ~ *


	15. I Cannot Save Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of miscallaneous drabbles, mostly from insta-drabbling sessions.

Words: **Depth, leaf, disturb, prediction**

The water glistens as I pour it into the mirror. Ripples disturb the calm surface.

Then, from the very depths of the liquid, an image forms…

_A solitary figure, sitting alone upon Cerin Amroth, clad all in black. Around her, the Mallorn leaves fall…_

The daughter of the Lord of Imladris, granddaughter of the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood, alone in her final days. But nothing can help her now, for she is _mortal._

What use is my foresight? What use are my predictions? I cannot save her from this.

_She must walk the path she has chosen…_

* ~ * ~ * ~ *


	16. They Would Pay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of miscallaneous drabbles, mostly from insta-drabbling sessions.

Words: **Limit, exhaled, passion, water, sound**

He hated them with a passion. There was no limit to their cruelty.

_Filth._

He would never forget what they had done to Naneth. He was there with Elrohir when they rescued her. She did not make a single sound on the way home. She was _broken._

He remembered it all too well.

He remembered feeding her water, drop by drop, when she would not eat.

He remembered listening to the sound of her breathing for hours on end, watching her inhale, exhale, always hoping it would not be for the last time.

He remembered the pain…

_They would pay._

* ~ * ~ * ~ *


	17. Hope of Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of miscallaneous drabbles, mostly from insta-drabbling sessions.

Words: **Completed, share, flower, hope**

Once again there is laughter in the Last Homely House.

Even in the short time he has been here, this little one has brought joy to us all. He has barely completed his fourth year, but already he has won over all our hearts.

_“Ada!”_

It is long since I have been addressed as such by one so little…

My sons, they share my love for this mortal child. He is so fragile, like a flower, and yet one day he will be a great leader of men. This I foresee.

We named him well…

_Estel._

The hope of Men.

* ~ * ~ * ~ *


End file.
